In the Beforetime
by BlossomStorm
Summary: What, exactly, happened to the Dragoons of Endiness before they were such fearless warriors? This is their story. The saga of the insanity that drives their power. Their Dragon Knight ... A series of vignettes explaining the lifechanging event in each of the dragoons' pasts. Shana's up. Rated T for violence and mild coarse language. PLEASE READ & REVIEW!
1. Albert

_**Albert**_

"Your uncle is a good man, son. ... He's really my strength. If it weren't for him, this country would fall apart."

It's what my father used to say, long ago. Before policy became corrupted, and when he relied on the people's support. Before he began to drink and required the assistance of paid ministers and advisors to run the country. Before he squandered Serdio's resources and the treasury went bankrupt. It was before tension rose between he and Uncle Doel. … Before he was murdered.

Of course, I didn't know any of it at the time. I was a mere six-year-old boy, concerned with pretend sword fights and which of my friends to knight when I became king.

For all his faults, however, my father was a beloved man, respected and adored by his subjects. Though he was accused of being many things throughout his lifetime-a coward, a drunk, an impossibly weak leader- I looked up to him. _Idolized_ him. Everyone did.

Before my mother died, Father was the epitome of the perfect gentleman. He was intelligent, ambitious, generous: he was honorable. After Mother passed, however, he became an entirely different person. In a mere seven months, my father's beloved Serdio had fallen into disarray. It was suddenly like nothing mattered to him at all any longer.

I must admit, when I officially took the throne at age fourteen and the country split in two, my father's advisors doubted my own capability as a leader. I suppose it's another testament to how poor things had gotten. Having seen year after year of famine and corruption, Minister Fiztgibbon had become inundated with complaints from the people and riots borne of desperation and need. At my coronation ball, he insisted that my succeeding Uncle Doel would be a return to the hell of my father's reign. He still tells me stories of my father's legacy of misgivings: tales of treachery and deceit, crimes against the people of Serdio; I usually stop him. I prefer to remember my father as the honorable man he once was.

Thank the gods for Minister Noish, though: he still speaks about my father as though he were a saint. As he was before everything happened. Noish faithfully ruled the country in my father's absence and upheld the family name. Perhaps later it was Noish's unshakable devotion to my father's good reputation that turned the people of Sandora against Uncle Doel and won the war.

It's difficult to say exactly what originally altered the family ties and caused Uncle Doel to go rogue. Some say Doel really had the people's interests at heart; others say he was only thirsty for power. Regardless, though, the rift between my father and his younger brother was impossible to deny. My uncle made his choice. He rescinded his loyalty to the Crown and defected. He broke away from all he'd ever known and loved ... and set into motion the tragedy that changed Serido forever.

* * *

It wasn't long past dinner when Carlo, the King of Serdio, and his son sat in the throne room of Indels Castle. Carlo worked tirelessly-reading, editing and rereading-a speech he'd prepared for the upcoming Festival of the Harvest, and six-year-old Prince Albert sat on the floor at his father's feet, playing quietly with a set of wooden figurines.

Footsteps sounded on the marble steps outside the room, and halted as they hit the carpeted floor at the foot of the throne. Carlo looked up, over the rim of his reading glasses, and set his speech aside.

"Good afternoon, dear brother."

The man who spoke had a voice as cold as steel, yet smoother than silk. His dark, curly hair lay neatly against his head and a carefully trimmed goatee framed his stern mouth.

Prince Albert jumped to his feet, eager to know what was happening, but his father laid a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him back to the floor. Albert slumped amidst his toys, but scarcely took his gaze off his father and their visitor. Carlo narrowed his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Doel?" he spat, turning to face the stranger. "I thought you'd found solace elsewhere."

"I have," Doel replied, raising his eyebrows. "In the city of Kazas, to the south."

The king shifted in his seat and leaned forward. "I see … The very city where I stationed you as governor."

Doel nodded once and took a few steps forward, glancing about the room. His eyes lingered on the stained glass panels above the doors to the balcony.

"How lovely," he remarked. "Those must have cost a fortune." He shot a look at Carlo over his shoulder.

"I'm sure you haven't come to discuss the decor."

Doel's mouth curved upward into a smile, though it appeared more like a smirk.

"You're shrewd, Carlo."

The king's expression was severe. "Then what is this about?"

Doel took a deep breath, folded his hands behind his back and faced the throne, though he avoided the king's gaze.

"I wish to make amends," he said, loudly and clearly.

Carlo laughed—a hollow, gravelly sound, low in his throat.

"I refuse to make amends with those who continually undermine my authority," he growled.

Doel snorted. "Indeed. I only undermine your authority because you retain so very little of it."

"I am the King of Serdio, brother. A title bestowed upon me for my birthright as the firstborn."

"And it's such a pity that your age has not granted you competence."

Carlo narrowed his eyes, and he held the arms of the throne in a white-knuckle grip. "That's treason, Doel. You dare speak out against the Crown of Serdio?"

Now was Doel's turn to laugh. "You're deceiving yourself, Carlo," he said. "The people are unhappy. They're starving to death, and you refuse them food. They lack decent homes, and you refuse them shelter. They have barely enough money and supplies to sustain their families, and still, you tax them to the last penny. Your governors run amok; the ministers are corrupted and … Something must be done."

Silence fell between the two. Cold, vicious silence. The brothers stared at each other, neither willing to give. Albert merely watched, sensing the agonizing rift growing between his father and uncle.

Finally, Carlo relaxed.

"If you've come to make amends," he said, "I hardly see what sense it makes to berate me and my policies. I only do what must be done."

Doel nodded. "Very well, brother. I will keep my opinions to myself, though it pains me to see the country struggle so. Come. Take my hand. I offer you my apologies and blessing."

A smile creeping onto his face, the king stood and breezily made his way down the steps from the throne. He didn't wear his cape today; its absence made him appear more gaunt and scrawny than usual. He stood in stark contrast to the man before him, who was both short and stocky and wore a maroon cape.

Doel extended his right hand to Carlo, dropping the left one to his side. Carlo wondered at the strange tautness of the man's left arm, but thought twice; Doel had always been stiff and pretentious, if not a little awkward.

Doel smiled warmly. The king reached to take his brother's hand, and Doel grasped it in a firm, friendly handshake. Carlo pulled his brother toward him in a forgiving embrace, but in the next instant, Doel's left hand whipped forward, lightning fast, and crippling pain ripped through the king's chest and abdomen.

As if in slow motion, Carlo stumbled backward, his knees buckling and his torso collapsing inward, racked with pain.

"Father!" Albert screamed. "Dad!"

He leapt from his spot near the throne and raced to the top of the steps.

The king turned and hobbled forward a few steps. One ... two ... three ... He attempted to halt his son with a hand held forward, but his arm dropped limply to his side. He didn't even have the strength to break his fall when he tumbled face first to the granite floor.

"FATHER!

Albert dashed to Carlo's side. The king rolled weakly over, one arm folded beneath him ... and the other clutching the handle of a knife whose blade was buried deep in his chest. Blood already oozed from the wound and colored the front of his doublet crimson.

Tears leaked from the corners of the young prince's eyes, and all he could do was stare at the cruel weapon protruding from his father's torso. Carlo released his grip on the knife and more blood leaked out, swiftly now.

The two younger royals watched the king struggle, battling for his life, but with every shaking breath, Carlo's spirit ebbed like the morning tide.

Carlo reached up slowly, his arm wobbly and unsure. He stroked his son's cheek, brushing the boy's flaxen hair from his eyes.

"Albert, my son …"

Albert took his father's hand and pressed it to his cheek. His tears leaked onto the limb, drawing faded streaks in the blood caked to the man's skin.

"Albert ..." Carlo groaned.

He opened his eyes and turned them upward. He struggled to focus, but there was no mistaking at whom he directed his gaze.

"Doel … why?"

Albert jerked his head to face his uncle, a man once so admired and revered for his bravery, intelligence and fairness. This … _this_ was hardly fair.

Doel bit his lip, and he trembled visibly. Albert opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Doel turned on his heel and dashed from the room, the hobnailed soles of his boots echoing down the corridor. The only sounds in the room now were Carlo's agonized breaths. Albert gripped his father's hand fiercely … and Carlo's spirit fled with the setting sun.


	2. Shana

_**Shana**_

I should've known it when I saw the painting on the ship: that I was destined for some strange fate when those ghost knights defended me. Something about that tragedy felt so real … it's why I wanted to explore the ship, but Dart wouldn't understand. It was just as easy to tell him that I was only curious.

Other than being brave in front of Virage, facing Queen Theresa was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Even more difficult than watching Dart leave Seles without saying good-bye. Walking into the Crystal Palace felt so strange, and yet so familiar ... and then, the throne room. Her Majesty had obviously aged in the last eighteen years, but her features so resembled those of the woman in the painting it was impossible to deny it. Like looking in a mirror ...

When my dragoon spirit chose Miranda instead, it was sad and also a relief. Disturbing because I vaguely knew what I was and what I would become, and welcome because it made me finally understand my past. Dart and the others don't know—they can't. It's my burden to bear ... at least, for now.

* * *

"We present, to the court, to the sovereign country of Mille Seseau and to all the world abroad, Princess Louvia Aurelia Nadine Theresa."

It had happened such a short time ago. The Queen had given birth early, her naturally thin frame overburdened with the weight of two infants. The nurses had done their best to ease the young woman's labor pains, and wiped her brow with cool cloths. One tiny girl entered the world smoothly and with little help from anyone. On instruction from the queen, she was called Louvia and her nursemaid whisked her away to be cleaned up.

But the other twin was not so eager to enter the world. Theresa struggled with her for several hours, until the doctor finally chose to operate. It was a difficult procedure, nearly killing both the infant and the queen, but eventually, Princess Selena was born.

After some close examination and speculation, it was determined that Louvia was quite healthy and stable. Her younger sister, however, was not so lucky; it appeared as though Selena were in a rigorous battle for her life, as if some unseen force had its hold on her and wouldn't readily give it up. The little girl weighed less than her sister, was smaller and generally weaker, but she apparently had a fighting heart, and soon began to steadily gain weight and grow. Thus, both girls survived the pregnancy and birth, and Mille Seseau gave thanks to Soa for protecting its ruler and its future.

However, because of Selena's struggles, the doctor had strongly advised the queen and her consort not to announce the younger princess' birth. They complied, themselves unsure of the permanency of her health.

But there was something still so strange about that night; the Moon that Never Sets had glowed an eerie shade of blood-red, morphing from its more typical shade of turquoise. Most everyone recognized it as a sign from legend: the earthly symbol that God would purify the world through the birth of a messiah ... the Moon Child. But perhaps everyone had been too busy to notice; they were all eating and drinking, celebrating the announcement of a princess' birth. Even after the exhaustion of childbirth, Queen Theresa had shivered in her bed that night, sleep not finding her until dawn.

It was only days later that a strange messenger had come to the Crystal Palace, pleading with the queen to relinquish one of her daughters.

The woman was relatively tall and thin, and she wore a ragged shawl about her shoulders, hunching forward at the waist as if she were suffering from arthritis and rheumatism. The woman's face, however, appeared quite youthful, with full, red lips and a well-shaped tiny nose. Her skin was as smooth and pale as that of the queen's newborn daughters.

"Please, Your Majesty," the woman begged, "If you do not send your daughter away, under the protection of another, she will surely die."

Queen Theresa didn't know what sort of evil this woman was speaking of and she could think of no place safer for her girls than under the roof of the Crystal Palace, but the woman's tone bothered her. It was as if the woman spoke from certainty, rather than distant foresight or the wild, purposeful guessing of trickery. No, this woman's tone was utterly frank, oddly specific and serious—deadly so.

"What, madam, may I ask will befall my household if I do not send my daughter away?" the queen asked. She had possessed every intention of dismissing this woman, but the strange prophecies she brought with her were too frightening to ignore.

"An evil of legend, My Queen ... one that does not discriminate between privileged and poor, princess and pauper. A demon, by some accounts. He burns entire cities and devours the flesh of those who oppose him."

Perhaps Theresa was only clinging to the last shred of hope in her heart, but the thought of losing either daughter, at this point, was unthinkable. She crossed and uncrossed her legs beneath her ceremonial gown and wrung her hands in her lap.

"If you are certain of this destruction," the queen began slowly, "then you must know exactly when it will occur."

Without hesitation, the woman replied, "A week hence."

Theresa shuddered. "And if I choose not to send her …?"

The woman's eyes went suddenly misty. "The answer to that, Your Highness, is one you'd rather not hear."

Queen Theresa blinked and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"But I suppose I must, shouldn't I? ... T,to be fully informed, correct?"

The woman smiled in a crooked, bitter sort of way. "You know the answer yourself, My Queen." The mystery and coldness in the woman's voice told Theresa everything she wanted to know.

The woman curtsied and turned to leave, but Queen Theresa jumped to her feet.

"Wait!"

Slowly, the woman turned back around, a lock of black hair falling in front of her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Wh, where should I send her? And when? I have no immediate relatives!"

Without blinking or missing a beat, the woman replied, "Send her east, to Serdio. It is furthest from where the destruction will be. She will have safety and security there. You must trust that someone will care for her."

She turned again, and the queen blurted, "Will I ever see her again? Will she return to Mille Seseau and the palace?"

But this time the woman did not stop or turn around. She merely kept walking and at the door, she said, "Perhaps that is something only Fate will tell." And she exited the throne room, leaving Queen Theresa shocked and alone.

* * *

Two days later, in the quiet comfort of a modest merchant's wagon, Princess Selena made her way to capital city Bale in Serdio.

After much debate and consulting with both her consort and her advisors, Queen Theresa had decided that the woman was merely bluffing and had been some sort of terroristic spy, hell-bent on garnering classified information for a foreign government. However, some inner part of her still wanted to believe the woman, to _trust_ her. So, recognizing that the public knew only of Louvia's existence, the queen chose to send Selena away to the safety of Serdio, as the woman had advised. If a tragedy _should_ befall Mille Seseau, at least one princess would live …

With Serdio in its own state of uncertainty, Queen Theresa was surprised to receive a letter from Minister Noish, confirming Selena's arrival in Bale. He even explained in the letter that he had taken it upon himself to find her a good home, and that he knew of a couple in Seles (the mayor and his wife, in fact!) who were looking to adopt a child. The queen shed some tears, but swiftly tossed the letter in the fire. She knew the more she dwelled on the loss of her daughter, the more she would regret her decision.

_No!_ she thought. _It's best for Selena._ _Best for her and Mille Seseau._

Still fearing for the safety of Louvia, Queen Theresa ordered a group of Royal Knights to accompany her and her consort, along with the newborn princess, to nearby Neet, a tiny logging town in the northeast corner of Mille Seseau. Theresa had considered travelling to Furni, for a chance to bask in the warm currents of Ilissa Bay, but thought better of it. Furni was a designated city on a frequently-travelled trade route; any ensuing danger would certainly pass that way.

Though Neet was a relatively small village, it boasted a very fine bed and breakfast inn, and the townspeople were relatively uninvolved in political matters. The queen and her family would surely find respite among them … or so Theresa thought.

* * *

A mere five days later, as the mysterious woman had predicted, devastation ripped across all of Mille Seseau.

Queen Theresa awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming. Horrible, terrifying screams. The screams of the tortured. She leapt from her bed, only to find her consort missing. As Head of the Mille Seseauan Royal Knights, it was his responsibility to lead search parties and defend against immediate danger. Out the bedroom window, orange light illuminated the dark shapes of houses and buildings. The town was in flames.

Theresa dashed into the hall and into the next room. She was met by Third Commander Joaquin, who cradled the princess in the crook of his arm.

"We must hurry, Your Majesty," he said, urgency dripping from every word. "Danger is imminent."

He had hardly gotten the words out when the door slammed open and a rush of hot air knocked the wind from the queen's lungs; she stumbled and fell but another knight yanked her to her feet and shoved her forward, toward the window.

"_Where's the princess?"_

It was a garbled, terrible voice, and suddenly black flames filled the doorway, taking a vaguely humanoid shape. What could only be called a monster stepped into the room.

"_Where's Princess Louvia?"_ it demanded.

Sir Joaquin shoved Theresa toward the window, urging her outward. She stared stupidly for a moment, then struggled out of the window. The knight followed, hurling himself beyond the monster's reach. The four of them tumbled the short distance to the ground.

Joaquin took off to the right, doubled over to protect the princess, with the other knight following close behind. Theresa watched as the monster set the bed and breakfast ablaze.

"Hide, Your Majesty!"

The voice broke her from her daze. It was her consort. Theresa looked around wildly.

"Zoar? Zoar!"

And then another wild, inhumane scream, and the sound of crackling. Theresa looked back to the window, and the limp body of Zoar hung over the sill. Shrieking in terror, the queen took off, looking for the first sign of safety. She found it about a quarter mile away. Still in her dressing gown and house shoes, the Queen of Mille Seseau shimmied her way into a narrow cave, tucked into the foothills of the mountains. Small scrub trees and bushes hid the opening from immediate view, and though the space was cramped, it provided her a small amount of security, though her mental state was in a different condition entirely.

The monster, black as night and afire with the fury of hell, blazed a path of destruction through Neet, burning the entire town and everyone in it. Later, the only survivor found amidst the rubble was a small girl, alone and blinded by the choking black smoke. Even the Royal Knights' last resort had failed against the irrevocable fury of the monster; the _H.M.R.S._ _Saint Louvia_, the vessel named for Mille Seseau's beloved daughter, was destroyed on the open sea in a furious black blaze.

Left shivering in the shadows of the aftermath as the dewy dawn crept in, Queen Theresa prayed silently to the Divine Tree, thanking it for her own life … and the life of at least one daughter.


End file.
